


Unanswered Prayers

by Balder12



Category: Supernatural
Genre: BAMF!Dean, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Purgatory, Rescue, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-02
Updated: 2012-11-02
Packaged: 2017-11-17 13:48:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/552221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Balder12/pseuds/Balder12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel was taken by the Leviathans when he disappeared from Dean's side in Purgatory. Now he's being held captive. He hears Dean pray to him every night, but he can't answer, and time is running out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unanswered Prayers

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to a prompt by terryh-nyan at Misachan's LJversary H/C & Rescue!Fic Comment Meme

Castiel didn’t know how long he’d been in the cave. There was no day or night down here by which to measure time, and he couldn’t be sure that the Leviathans were coming to him at regular intervals. Sometimes it felt like he spent days alone in the dark between their visits. Sometimes only an hour seemed to pass before the next one showed up, knife in hand.  
  
It wasn’t torture. “Torture” implied that the person with the knife had some interest in the suffering of the victim. They didn’t. It was more like harvesting. They sliced him along the insides of his arms and thighs, and drained off the blood into stone bowls. He never saw what they did with it. He guessed they drank some it themselves. Angel blood was potent enough to strengthen even a Leviathan. The rest they could sell to pretty much any monster in Purgatory. Castiel was worth his weight in gold.  
  
He spent most of his time trying to reawaken his grace. He could feel it inside him, nestled in his solar plexus, but he couldn’t get it to unfurl. He picked at it constantly with his mind, but it was locked down tight, like a nut he couldn’t crack open. He thought that it had to be something to do with the nature of Purgatory. It was infuriating to be bound spreadeagle on a table by ordinary ropes. He was angrier at his own weakness than he was at the Leviathans.  
  
He was so helpless in his current state that he might as well have been human. It took him a while to realize that the reason he kept losing consciousness was that he was falling asleep. His injuries didn’t heal instantaneously, anymore, and the dull throb of the knife wounds was his constant company. They grew less insistent as they healed, except for one particularly deep one on his right inner thigh, which only seemed to get worse. It felt hot, like a frying pan against his leg.  
  
At one point, he succeeded in getting his left hand out of its bindings by cracking his wrist against the table and bending it at the wrong angle. He’d almost untied the other when one of his captors walked in. In the end, all he got was tied down better than he was before, and the bright red pain of a broken bone to go along with the knife wounds that covered his body.  
  
Even all but cut off from his grace, Castiel could hear Dean. He didn’t know if it was a blessing or a curse. The Leviathans had grabbed Castiel the moment that he arrived in Purgatory, the black threads of their sticky tentacles grasping him from every direction simultaneously. They’d dragged him away so fast that Dean missed it entirely. Castiel spent the first few hours of his capture screaming futilely for Dean, convinced that he’d been eaten by the wolves that had surrounded him.  
  
Then he’d heard Dean call. Dean had never been terribly pious in his attempts at prayer, but that was unnecessary. All that was required for Castiel to hear a human’s call was that the human invoke his name, and think of him.  
  
 _“Cas,” Dean said. Castiel saw him in his mind’s eye, covered in blood and favoring his left leg. “So, I kicked some wolf ass back there, huh? Where’d you get to? Some freaky son of a bitch try to take a bite out of you? I, uh, I don’t really know where to meet up with you, so I’ll just stay where I am, I guess. Same place we landed. Just try to get back here as fast as you can. Okay?”_  
  
Cas wanted to yell at Dean to keep moving. The Leviathans knew where he was. God only knew what other monsters were on the way. Don’t wait for me, you fool. The image cut out, leaving Castiel with no idea what might be happening to Dean.  
  
Some time later, the impenetrable darkness that surrounded Castiel was broken by Dean’s voice: _“Cas. It’s me. Dean. Come on, man. The hell happened to you? If you’re in trouble, just throw up a white flag or something, okay? Do your dream thing.”_  
  
Castiel was both overjoyed that Dean was alive, and worried that the Leviathans had yet to make a move on him. If they’d captured Castiel, then they must know where Dean was, too. What could they be planning?  
  
The messages kept coming. They got more and more desperate as time passed:  _“You’d better not be fucking dead, you son of a bitch. You can’t do this to me again.”_  Castiel heard versions of that prayer over and over again, until he could practically say it along with Dean. Maybe he did. He was getting a little punchy.  
  
Castiel’s mouth felt like cotton, and his throat burned. The constant dripping sound of water down the cave walls filled him with a longing that was almost as intense as his longing for Dean. He thought this must be what thirst felt like. He remembered shimmering lakes and cool streams. He remembered the times that he’d walked along the bottom of the ocean, his favorite place for quiet reflection.  
  
He was so, so cold. He shivered until the friction from the ropes wore his skin away. He missed the bright, steady flame of his grace, warming him from within. He remembered the hot summer sun beating down on the island of Santorini, a place to which he’d been returning for eons. He remembered the warm breeze off the Mediterranean Sea, and the thousand glorious colors of sunset, framed by the cliffs. He remembered his bare feet on the black, volcanic sand. He wondered why he’d never taken Dean there with him. There had always been things in the way, things that had seemed terribly important at the time, but that he couldn’t quite remember now.  
  
Dean would have liked Santorini. He deserved beauty, and his life had never offered him enough it. Castiel could picture Dean swimming in the sea, and drinking sweet Greek wine, and wandering in white and blue churches covered in bougainvillea. Castiel could have taken Dean to the recently uncovered Minoan ruins, and told him what they were like when they were new.  
  
When the Leviathans came, and cut into Castiel, he didn’t think about their knives. He thought about  _water_ , and  _sun_ , and  _Dean_.  
  
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++  
 _“Cas,” Dean said._  
  
“Yes?” said Castiel. Dean’s voice woke him, and for a moment he was disoriented. He thought that Dean must be by his side, speaking to him. He considered asking Dean if he knew where they could find water. Then the picture flickered on in his mind, and he saw Dean talking to a man wearing Castiel’s face. Castiel knew the man. He’d once lived inside Castiel’s vessel. It was Dick Roman.  
  
 _Dean took Dick Roman in his arms, as he’d never done to Castiel. “It’s good to see you,” Dean said. “Nice peach fuzz.” He ran his finger down Dick Roman’s face._  
  
Castiel shouted Dean’s name, but Dean couldn’t hear him. Part of Castiel wished that Dick Roman would just eat Dean. If he had to die, then kill him and be done.  There was no reason to toy with him like this.  
  
 _“Cas, we’re getting out of here. We’re going home,” Dean said._  
  
Castiel knew then why the Leviathans had allowed Dean to live. Dick Roman was planning to use Dean as his ticket upstairs. After everything they’d gone through to lock Dick Roman up in Purgatory, Dean was about to carry him right back to Earth. Clever.  
  
The picture cut out, and Castiel groaned in frustration. He tugged against the ropes, but he accomplished nothing other than giving himself a new shock of pain when they rubbed against the places where his skin had worn away. The wound in his thigh throbbed with every movement, shooting searing threads out to the tips of his fingers and toes. Castiel felt like he was floating. He was hot and cold by turns.  
  
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++  
  
 _“Cas,” Dean said._  
  
“Yes?” said Castiel. He didn’t know where he was, but it was dark and cold. It was all right, though, because Dean was there. Dean wouldn’t let anything bad happen to him.  
  
 _“Remember when we killed that wendigo together out in Colorado?” Dean said._  
  
Castiel furrowed his brow. He didn’t remember any wendigo. Could this be one of Dean’s jokes?  
  
 _“Of course,” said Dick Roman. Dean nodded. Dick Roman turned away, and Dean’s knife sliced right through his neck. Dick Roman’s head went flying._  
  
Even through the haze of pain and fever, Castiel smiled.  
  
+++++++++++++++++++++++++  
  
“Cas,” Dean said.  
  
“Yes?” It was dark, and Castiel wasn’t sure where Dean was. Maybe he was praying again, louder than he had before. Cas wanted to go to him, but there was something holding his limbs down, and his grace couldn’t untangle itself.  
  
“I’m over here. What’d they do to you?”  
  
Castiel looked in the direction of the voice. Dean was standing in front of him, clutching his curved blade, looking as fierce and righteous as an avenging angel. But that couldn’t be right. Castiel was the angel, and Dean was covered in blood. They must be in Hell. Yes, that was it. Castiel was supposed to grip Dean tight and raise him from Perdition, but his hand hurt, and he couldn’t seem to spread his wings.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Castiel said. “I’m so, so sorry.” He heard his voice break.  
  
“Hey, hey.” Dean was on his knees, now, cradling Castiel’s face. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner.”  
  
“I was supposed to raise you from Hell.” Dean looked so sad when Castiel said that. It made Castiel feel even worse. He’d tried his best. Dean’s bladed flickered through the black air, and the pressure on Castiel’s wrists and ankles eased. When Dean picked him up it jarred every one of his wounds, and his broken wrist bounced against Dean’s side. Castiel swallowed his scream, though. Dean was helping. Dean was going to carry him out of Hell.  
  
Castiel was fairly certain that he said “Thank you,” before he passed out.  
  
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++  
  
Castiel’s breath came hard and labored. He opened his eyes. There were trees all around them. There were no trees in Hell.  
  
Before Castiel could understand what was happening, he felt Dean’s cupped hands pressing against his lips. He opened his mouth automatically, and cold water flowed in. It tasted like light. It tasted sweeter than the love of God. When the water was gone Dean turned away to scoop up more–were they near a river?–and pressed his hands against Castiel’s lips again. He did it over and over. Castiel took the water greedily every time, until Dean laid a heavy hand on his chest and said, “Okay, okay, buddy. I don’t want you to get sick, right? I’ll give you more later.”  
  
Castiel wanted to object that he was still thirsty, but the darkness lurking at the edges of his vision overtook him too fast. Between one slow blink and the next, he was gone.  
  
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++  
  
He woke up staring at black leaves and purple sky. There was the soft crackle of a fire, just out of his range of vision. The air smelled like burning wood and Dean.  
  
Dean’s worried face loomed over him, and Castiel realized that his head was lying on Dean’s lap. “How are you doing?”  
  
“Okay,” Castiel said. Every part of him hurt, but the pain felt far away.  
  
“You need to eat,” Dean said. He held out a bit of meat.  
  
“I’m an angel,” Castiel said, confused. “I don’t need food. You eat.” He didn’t know what hunger felt like, but he didn’t think that he was hungry. All he wanted was to lie in Dean’s lap and sleep.  
  
“Something’s wrong with your mojo,” Dean said. “You aren’t healing right. And you’re sleeping. And drinking water. I think you need food.” He pressed the strip of meat insistently to Castiel’s lips. Finally, Castiel opened his mouth and took it in. It was chewy, and hard to swallow lying down. It reminded him that he was queasy. He didn’t want any more, but Dean kept pushing pieces of meat at him, and he looked so worried that Castiel ate to make him happy. Finally Dean stopped, and let Castiel lapse gratefully back into unconsciousness.  
  
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++  
  
Castiel cried out in pain. Someone was pressing his hand into Castiel’s wounds.  
  
“I know, I know it hurts, but I’ve got to do it,” Dean said. He was dipping a rag into the river and wringing it out as he spoke. Then he brought it to one of the cuts in Castiel’s leg. Castiel bit down on his bottom lip this time, and barely managed to stay silent.  
  
“I wish I could stitch you up,” Dean said, “but I don’t have any needles or thread. Cleaning them out is the best I can do.”  
  
Dean’s hand traveled to the cut on Castiel’s right inner thigh, the one that felt hot. The instant Dean’s finger poked at it, Castiel shrieked against his will. The pain was like nothing he’d ever known, worse than the times that he’d been blown apart entirely.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Castiel said, ashamed of his weakness.  
  
“How many times do I have to tell you, you have nothing to be sorry for,” Dean said. He sighed. “It’s infected. Bad. I think that’s why you’ve got the fever. I need to cauterize the wound. Do you understand what that means?”  
  
Castiel nodded. Fire used to sterilize. He’d been on Earth in ancient times. He’d seen it done often enough.  
  
Dean looked scared, far more scared than Castiel felt. He wanted to console Dean, put an arm around him and tell him that he was doing a good job, but he didn’t have the strength to get up off the ground.  
  
“I just . . . you know you’re not in Hell, right? I don’t want to hurt you. I’m just trying to make you better.” Castiel knew that he wasn’t in Hell. Hell didn’t have trees. He wasn’t at all sure where he was, or why he was hurt, or what was happening to him, but he knew that he trusted Dean. If Dean thought that something needed to be done, then it did.  
  
“I know, Dean,” Castiel said. “Do what you must.”  
  
Dean pressed a stick into Castiel’s mouth. “Bite down.”  
  
Dean lifted his blade out of the fire, red hot. When he brought it down, Castiel bit the stick in two.  
  
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++  
  
Castiel went in and out of consciousness. Pain was a cage of fire that enclosed him. He burned with thirst, but Dean was there, bringing water to his lips, even before he could find the words to ask. When he shivered, Dean pulled the trench coat over him like a blanket, and held him close. When he pushed away the coat and Dean both, smothering in the intolerable heat, Dean soaked rags in the river, and placed them on his forehead and the back of his neck. Somewhere in the midst of his confusion, Castiel could have sworn that Dean sang to him. It was something about the sandman, Dean’s voice awkward and out of tune. It soothed Castiel back to sleep.  
  
He couldn’t say how long it was before he woke up sweaty and lucid, his head against Dean’s chest, the two of them lying propped up against a tree. The wound in his leg still hurt, but it wasn't the all-consuming pain that it had been before.  His left wrist was tied to a stick by a bunch of filthy rags. He couldn't even remember that part, which was probably just as well.  He peered up into Dean’s face, and found him asleep. Castiel lay still, content for the moment to let Dean rest.  
  
“Cas?” Dean said after a while.  
  
“Yes?” Castiel said. He felt immensely relieved that Dean could hear him answer now.  
  
“How are you feeling?” Dean looked earnestly into his eyes.  
  
“Better,” Castiel said. “I remember what happened. You shouldn’t be here. I’m a magnet for the Leviathans.”  
  
“Yeah, that’s what fake Cas said, too. I didn’t buy it then and I don’t buy it now.  I found this vamp who says he knows the way out, and we're supposed to meet up with him in a couple of days.  Both of us.”  
  
Castiel squirmed in the arms that encircled him, but couldn’t pull free. “There’s a price on my head. They’ll keep coming for me.”  
  
Dean grabbed him under the chin and tipped his head up to look Dean in the eye. “Do I look like I care?” he said. Dean’s lips brushed his, then, just a soft, dry touch, fleeting, then gone, but it felt sweeter than cool water, and warmer than the sun.  
  
“Let me bottom line this for you,” Dean said. “I’m not leaving without you.”  
  
“I understand,” Castiel said. And he thought that maybe he did. He pictured sunsets, and seas, and vineyards, and all the places that he and Dean would still have time to go, if only they could get out of here. Then he settled against Dean’s chest again, and fell backward into sleep.  
  
  



End file.
